


The Taste of Blood

by Romancemesomeziam



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: FBI Agent James "Bucky" Barnes, Gang Leader Steve Rogers, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 00:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romancemesomeziam/pseuds/Romancemesomeziam
Summary: The FBI had been monitoring the Irish mafia for years but ever since the sudden arrival of a new leader, things had changed drastically and now needed to be stopped. The old leader had been found by the river down in Jersey, his fingerprints burned off and not a single teeth in his mouth to identify. All this was supposed to be the doing of the new leader, Steve Rogers. The thing about Steve Rogers though was that no one really knew  who he was. Steve Rogers was a ghost, and a very dangerous one at that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by a few posts. Here they are: 
> 
> https://riricitaa.tumblr.com/post/186751103247/undercover-fbi-agent-x-gang-leader-au-first
> 
> https://riricitaa.tumblr.com/post/186789672457/undercover-fbi-agent-x-gang-leader-au-part-2
> 
> https://incorrectstevebucky.tumblr.com/post/186818462219/riricitaa-undercover-fbi-agent-x-gang-leader-au

James sighed as he looked into the mirror, brushing his hand over his newly shaved head. He felt almost naked, his long brown hair now almost all gone. He had shaved almost everything off on the sides, leaving it a little longer on the top. It almost reminded him of his old army haircut.

_ If the army did botch jobs and accepted rough edges _, he thought. James definitely looked different than he usually did with his silky brown hair and polished good looks. Now, the word brutish came to mind immediately as he inspected his reflection. He missed the long locks already, but he also knew a dramatic change was necessary for his upcoming assignment. 

The man staring back at him in the mirror was no one he could remember. Gone was the shoulder length brown hair that he usually pinned back into a bun to keep it out of his way during work hours. Gone was the clean shaven FBI agent, now replaced by an unkept beard shaved into a goatee that obscured his mouth. Never in his life had he looked like the man that stared back at him now. Never had he wanted to look like this either. 

Fury had warned him that everything about his life was going to change due to this assignment and not just his appearance. In fact, this was the last night James was allowed by the FBI to stay in his own apartment. Although, the lease had been transferred to a fake name to cover up his tracks, he would no longer be allowed to have access to this place. 

For this mission, the FBI had found a run down apartment in one of the rougher parts of town and thought it would be more appropriate for James to spend some time there before he actually started his infiltration of the Irish mafia. They wanted to make sure his story was bullet proof and that no one could track down his actual name, information or job. 

It was not as though James could argue with the FBI at this point. He was experienced in undercover jobs and everything that had to do with the Irish mafia but he had nowhere near as much knowledge as director Fury did. 

To be ready for this mission, James had spent the last two years learning everything he could about the Irish mafia, including their structure, the important people and even the little thugs that ran dope for them. Yet director Fury was always a step ahead of him, always knew everything before he did and so James didn’t question when he was told they basically had to erase who he used to be to make sure that he wasn’t caught. Apparently, amongst the high leaders of the Irish mafia was a hacker that could not be beat, checking everyone's ID down to their teeth records upon initiation. 

So James did as he was told, accepted every single demand, including cutting his hair, changing the way he talked and even the way he walked. 

_ Here goes nothing _, James said softly as he swept a hand over his beard one last time and walked out the bathroom and towards his bed. 8 PM seemed a bit early to go to bed but James shuffled under the blankets anyways, turning the lamp that sat upon his nightstand off. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to get much sleep for the next few months so an early night sure wasn’t going to hurt. 

He closed his eyes as he settled into bed, turning over a few times before finding a comfortable position. He kept going over everything he needed to know in his head, repeating to himself his back story, including where he was from, his parents name, his grandparents name and even his own. 

“I’m Bucky,” he breathed out against the pillow one last time before giving in to sleep, falling into a dreamless state. 

__________________________________

Sam threw a file across the table towards James as he entered the conference room, and sat next to him. He looked tired as he settled down, his suit a little wrinkled and his tie undone. They had spent countless hours as of late on this mission and it was starting to show in both of their faces. James’s suit was just as disheveled, now matching his botched haircut and beard. He peered down at the documents Sam had handed to him without even acknowledging his colleague. 

“Fury should be here any minute,” Sam said as he leaned back into his chair bringing a cup of coffee to his lips with a cocky grin on his face. “That hair cut man,” he laughed. “You look like an 80s porn star dude.” 

James rolled his eyes as he flipped through the different documents in the file Sam had given him, trying to memorize again and again all the names and positions of the various people portrayed in the pictures before him. He already knew everything by heart but a last minute reminder sure couldn’t hurt. 

“So you’re into 80s porn then, how is it I’m not all that surprised,” James finally replied with a smirk, leaning back into his own chair. 

Sam was the closest thing he had to family ever since he had left the army and everyone around them was used to the constant bickering. They had met on their first day as FBI trainees and had been inseparable ever since. 

“Yeah man,” chuckled Sam, cocking a brow as he kicked at James’s shin. “I love to watch your momma in those.”

“Don’t you-” started James but was quickly interrupted. 

“Really boys,” Maria said as she walked in with director Fury in tow. She sat on the opposite side of the table from them, her hand clasped together as she leaned forward. “Still making mom jokes at your ages, that’s a little sad don’t you think?” 

“Lets hope you have gotten it at of your system Barnes because today is not a day for fuck ups,” added Fury as he took place in his own chair at the head of the table, adjusting the patch over his eyes before staring at them, cutting the conversation short. 

“Yes sir,” both Sam and himself replied in unison, turning to face their director, still smiling like idiots. Truth was, he and Sam often got away with stupidities because of how successful they had been in the past. Although director Fury was always on their asses, he trusted them and they knew that. 

They had been on multiple missions together but lately Sam had been placed on desk duty. Last year, while they were getting rid of an international target that was slumming it in the New York nightclubs, a technical problem had caused a flying failure and caused great damage to Sam’s knees and back. Now he acted as James’s go to, prepping every assignment and making sure James always got out safely. It had been unthinkable at first for James to imagine going out in the field alone, without Sam but this mission had been the perfect excuse for him to get his head back in the game. 

“The assignment we are about to begin is one of the most important of this decade,” Fury leaded before signaling Maria to take over.

“Yes,” she confirmed, handing everyone a thick document. She paused momentarily as everyone turned to the same page. “The numbers and importance of the Irish mafia has been increasing at an alarming rate for the past few years. Drugs on the street are getting stronger, murders are on the rise and the illegal weapons business is off the charts.”

Sam and James both nodded as Maria kept talking. None of this was a surprise to them. The FBI had been monitoring the Irish mafia for years but ever since the sudden arrival of a new leader, things had changed drastically and now needed to be stopped. The old leader had been found by the river down in Jersey, his fingerprints burned off and not a single teeth in his mouth to help identify him. All this was supposed to be the doing of the new leader, Steve Rogers. The thing about Steve Rogers though was that no one really knew who he was. 

When things got real, the higher ups were the one that were seen in action. Steve Rogers’s second in command, a deadly russian woman by the name of Natasha Romanov was the one that was most often seen cleaning up the messes when need be. But no one seemed to know who Steve Rogers was. 

The FBI had tried to gather the information but the name Steve Rogers seemed to have come out of thin air. There was absolutely no history or even birth certificate that matched the name in the United States for the last 70 years. They had even search across the globe, trying ever declination of the name they could think of but without any results. Steve Rogers was a ghost, and a very dangerous one at that. 

“James this is where you come in,” continued Maria, clicking on the projector next to her as an image appeared on the wall. “Word on the street is that the Irish mafia is recruiting new members for their weapons dealing, people with a lot of knowledge in the game and some fighting abilities.”

“Almost sounds too perfect for Barnes,” chuckled Sam, immediately settling down as Fury gave him an unimpressed look. 

It was true that James fit the profile perfectly, even too much so that it was slightly worrisome. James had spent over ten years in the army as a renowned sniper and marksman. He could shoot with any weapon and touch any target with little to no effort. And after retiring from the army because he was simply tired of always catching the soldiers and never the brain of the operations, James had rapidly made his way up the ranks in the FBI, going under cover within the first two years of service which was completely unheard of. All that added to his love of martial arts and ultimate combat made him the prime candidate for the mission. It was like as if he had been born to do this, born to catch the Ghost of the Irish mafia. 

“Your alias is as we had discussed. Jeremey Buchanan, or Bucky as your prefer,” confirmed Fury. “Ex-military with a long list of kills and missions but most importantly a dishonourable discharge for weapons dealing in the middle east. The documents have already been created and are in the US army database as well as on interpol's research hit list. We’ve created a complete history for you as you know and it is crucial that you stick to it. You know what one mistake means in a crowd like this.”

“I’ve got it,” James assured. He made eye contact with Fury who nodded in his direction before stepping away from the table and towards the door. “You have one month to make connections and integrate the outer circle of the Irish mafia, after that we go for the head. I want Steve Rogers behind bars or dead within the year.” 

James nodded as he glimpsed towards Sam and then Maria. There was a somber atmosphere around them as Maria handed him his new passport, ID cards and a wad of cash. The beginning of a mission was usually filled with nerves but today felt completely different. It was after all, the biggest undercover operation James had ever been a part of. 

“Check ins are every other week through the Green Bench, on Mondays,” Maria added as she stood, interrupting James thoughts and bringing him back to the present. “After three missed check ins we are sending in another agent, clear?”

“Clear,” breathed James, packing the files before him and standing. He knew damn well that if ever he missed three check ins that the chances of him still being alive were very slim. 

“Goodluck Barnes.” 

Maria held out her hand, a grim expression sliding across her face but she masked it rapidly, falling into the professional courtesy without fault. James shook the hand he was offered, trying a smile of his own before watching his superior walk out. 

Sam stood behind him in silence before patting him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” 

James nodded in acknowledgement, turning to face his friend and offering him the same encouraging smile. “Of course I am. You’re not getting rid of me so easily Wilson. Someone’s got to keep your ass in check.” 

With a laugh, they both made their way out the conference room, files in hand as they head to the elevator. James handed the file over to Sam after pressing the down button, shuffling from foot to foot as he looked up at his friend. This was it, the moment that James Barnes ceased to exist and he became Jeremey “Bucky” Buchanan. 

“Goodbye James,” Sam murmured, leaning in as he enveloped James in a hug. 

“Hello Bucky,” replied James silently as he embraced his friend one last time before heading into the elevator, leaving Sam behind for the very first time. 

__________________________

After being dropped off inside the airport by incognito FBI agents, James made his way through town as though he had just arrived of a flight from Europe. He called a cab to bring him to his new place, an old army duffle bag in hand that smelled rotten and looked just as bad. He had nothing to his name anymore, a few outfits change that look nothing like the real him, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter made up his new belongings. 

The ride down to the city was long, James metal hand twitching as he played with his lighter. When he finally stepped through the doorway of his new place, he grimaced, dropping his duffle bag onto the stained gray couch, walking around to make sure he was alone. The place was a mess, cans littering the either apartment, old food still rotting in the fridge and unidentifiable stains covered the walls.

Old habits had James identifying possible escapes routes immediately before moving on to inspection. He searched every corner of the grim apartment, making sure there weren’t any microphones anywheres or hidden cameras that could be a problem. The small one bedroom apartment had been picked by Maria and the team but he still wanted to make sure that he was safe. After a few minutes of searching through everything, opening the drawers and the kitchen cabinets, checking in every crook and cranny James sat next to his bag, a sigh falling from his lips. 

He was now alone with his thought for the next few months, maybe even for the next year. No one really knew how long this assignment would take and James had known from the beginning that he could be in this for years. But it didn’t really matter considering he had no one waiting for him at home. His parents died a long time ago and his sisters and him barely talked. After the war he had never really been the same and spending 10 years away from your family without any contact tended to lead to very little interest on their part. At the ripe age of 34, James knew nothing but his job. He had a few friends, buddies to grab a beer and watch a game but really he was all about this job. 

It was not as though he was celibate. He was a good looking guy, getting a girl to come home with him was quite easy but he had lost the touch for delicate things after the army. Now he had a penchant for rougher looking people, men that could hold him up against a wall and make him feel. That too was easy to find but not exactly something you wanted to attach yourself to with the kind of job he had. People asked too many questions and he never could answer them. 

Reaching over into the front pocket of his sleeveless jean jacket, James pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lite one up. The tip of the cigarette reflected onto the metal panels of his left arm creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the wall. He admired it for a minute before he settled back into the couch, folding his feet over the wobbly table before him as he inhaled deeply. He hadn’t smoked since his early days in the army but everything he did now was part of the illusion, part of his new life and of the new him. 

_ This whole new look is going to take a lot of getting used to _, James thought to himself as he took another long drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes. The goatee on his face itched and he kept reaching out to play with a strand of hair that was no longer there. He forced his hand back down and onto his thigh, controlling the urge. He was still working out the little gestures and kinks from his previous appearance, knowing perfectly well that something as small as playing with a hair strand that wasn’t there could ruin his cover. 

Stabbing out the unfinished cigarette in a nearby can littering the table, James stood and made his way towards the bathroom. He opened the water reservoir of the toilet, grabbing the gun that was taped to the front and shoving it into the back of his pants. 

_ Thanks Sam _, he thought to himself as he covered it with his jacked, before making his way out of the apartment and out into the hot, heavy afternoon sun. He needed to scout the surrounding area, find the various pawns of the Irish mafia that could get him in and lead him to Rogers.

James walked down the sidewalk hands in his pocket, a new swagger to his step that he was slowly getting accustomed to. He knew exactly what he looked like, the glares he got from people walking by him confirmed it. Yet James kept his head high, a self assured grin on his face as he entered a pub he knew to be affiliated to the Irish mafia. It was time for Jeremey “Bucky” Barnes to be known.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks into his assignment, James sat in a hole in the wall bar, a beer in hand as he washed away the taste of his latest cigarette. He had been creating a network of buyers and purposely trying to get noticed in the underground arms dealing industry. He and Sam had discussed this path, figuring it was the best way to be recruited by the Irish without looking too suspicious. James also guessed that making friends with a few of the Irish working men would help his integration into the outer circle of the gang so he started hanging out in the same places as a lot of the dealers did, staying silent but still gathering quite some interest from the others. He knew his prosthetic arm drew a lot of attention but in a mission like this, it was exactly what he wanted. That added to his fake drunken slurs about the middle east had a lot of the boys drooling over his expertise. 

About two weeks into the assignment, James had managed to hit it off with a guy named Pietro that he had met at the local gym, a dark and dirty place that could barely accustom the bulky workout machines that were scattered a bit everywhere. He had heard about it in between different conversations and decided it was a good place to keep in shape but also, a good place to keep up with the street gossip. 

When he first met Pietro, he hadn’t thought much about the kid. He couldn’t much older than 21, his eyes hiding behind a mop of gray hair that he kept unkempt as he ran at an impressive speed on a treadmill. James had been impressed, offered the kid a cigarette in the alley after a workout and things had gone from there. He found himself half drunk in a bar later that night, winking at the guy’s sister that dragged them back to their place to sober up with a little bit of home cooking. Little did he know, Pietro had a lot more connections than James had previously thought. He could hear him speak with his sister in Slovakian sometimes and it was obvious that the kid knew a lot. 

The only problem being that no matter how much time James spent with Pietro, he couldn’t quite figure out the kid’s position as he seemed to appear and disappear so easily. Even inside the guy’s own house when he was plastered drunk, Pietro would disappear without a trace and James would be left in an alcohol induced haze wondering what the fuck was going on. 

One night, after having a few drinks with his new friend, he had faked being drunk, slurring his words as he told various army stories, finishing with why he had left the army. Pietro had listened quietly, a drink in his own hand as he agreed with James that the army and their rules were not for people like the. 

That night, when he left the bar to go back to his apartment, he spotted someone following him. He knew at that moment that he had finally poked at Pietro’s interest with his slurred words and accomplishments.  _ Bucky the trained killer with a thing for weapons sure was a good at making friends _ , James had thought as he walked home, pretending he hadn’t noticed he was being followed. 

For the last few days now, he had been followed by a few different men, lower thugs from the Irish mafia he recognized from random deals he had analyzed but didn’t know by name. He knew he would be cornered at some point, hopefully to be brought to the higher ups and not shot on sight, but just to be safe he had strapped an extra knife to his ankle and one to his waist.

He knew those wouldn’t be very useful where he was heading, his duffle bag in hand as he crossed an empty parking lot. James was supposed to meet with Pietro at the gym for a little training session. The kid knew damn well that he was a great runner but he could barely throw a punch. After he had watched James beating the shit out of a punching bag the day before he had annoyed him into teaching him how to fight. 

James had been curious and confused when he’d watch Pietro try and hit the punching bag a few times, his form completely off allowing almost no weight transfer to add power to his punch. _ How was this kid part of the Irish mob and couldn’t even throw a proper punch he _ had wondered, holding back a laugh as he had smiled at his new friend. 

When James finally entered the gym, it was deserted. He changed quickly into his work out gear, stuffing his gun, and knives into his locker. He didn’t like the idea of being empty handed but he couldn’t exactly hide a gun or a knife in his gym shorts while he spared with a rookie. 

As James walked out into the open area of the gym, Pietro was still nowhere to be seen. An eerie silence settled over the gym as he walked across the fighting matts to the cardio area, alarming James to the inevitable conclusion that Pietro had set him up. Nevertheless, he stayed put, circling the equipment as he tried to eye ll the exit points even though he still thought this could go in his favour. Even if the relationship he had built with Pietro was only a week old, the kid seemed genuine and James figured as long as he didn’t fuck around too much with whoever was going to ambush him, he would walk away unharmed. 

To pass the time, James started to jog at a slow rhythm on the treadmill farthest from the door, keeping his eyes in front of him even though consciously he was aware of every single thing around him. Within seconds he was surrounded by the thugs that had followed him all day, a guy around his age looming at the back.  _ Clint Barton _ , James recognized him right away. 

The man had his arms crossed over his chest, a nonchalant look on his face as he approached. After a few seconds, James could see Pietro behind him, a cheerful smile covering his features as he waved in James’s direction. 

With a chuckle and an eye roll, James pressed the stop button on the treadmill before dismounting it, advancing into the semi-circle of men crowding him. “Pietro.”

“Hi ya Buck,” laughed Pietro as he advanced, passing in front of Barton who seemed a little annoyed by the gesture. “I thought you’d like to meet my friends.”

“Your friends don’t look all that ...friendly,” James replied as he crossed his own arms, staring back at Barton who had yet to look away. He knew perfectly well he had to show a strong front if he wanted any chance of climbing the internal ladder quickly. He was surprised however that Barton was here. He rarely took part in the recruiting aspect of the business. 

“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Pietro assured as he shuffled through the men that were caging James in, clapping James’s shoulder in an amiable gesture. “They’re harmless. I mostly wanted you to meet my Pa. Clint.”

James tried desperately not to react to Pietro’s admission. He sure didn’t know that Barton had a kid, even less so that the kid was somehow involved in the mob. A shiver ran up James’s spin as he saluted Barton, just a small army gesture. He couldn’t help but wonder what else he didn’t know about Pietro. In this type of mission, every unknown detail could be very costly and at the moment James knew he was at a disadvantage. 

“Pietro has been telling me about his new friend,” Barton finally said as he signaled for the men to disperse. They listened immediately, scattering across the small gym. It didn’t exactly allow any intimacy but James figured it was a good sign. “Also said you might be interested in a job.” 

Shooting Pietro a glare, James took a step forward. “I might be, depends what you’re looking for.” 

As he advanced, James could see scars across Barton’s hands, some old and new. He sure seemed like a man that had seen a lot but his face remained stoic, not a single emotion could be perceived on his face until he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

Barton even snorted, obviously unimpressed with James. “Let's say I have a feeling you’re qualified. Pietro will give you the details. If you don’t fuck up, I’ll get you a better gig.” 

“And who says I’m interested?,” James countered rapidly as Barton turned to leave. 

Without a word, Barton threw something at him. It caught under the tip of his boot, a shot almost too good to be true. By the time James reached down to recuperate the piece of paper, Barton was gone.  _ Apparently Pietro and his Pa have the disappearing act in common _ , James thought to himself as he looked at the image in his hand. It was a picture of him with the Quaz. Shit! that was the deal he had made last week in the industrial park. He hadn’t even known at the time that he was being followed. That meant they knew about him long before he even met Pietro.

Stuffing the picture into his pocket, James rubbed at his face. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that they had already been following him. In fact it meant that he had caused enough movement to catch their attention. The only thing James didn’t like however was the thought that Barton had pursued him and he had never notice. 

Cursing under his breath, James watched as the men around the gym started to shuffle out, no doubt following Barton back to where ever he had fucked off to. James turned towards Pietro. “So,” he said. “What do I have to do.” 

___________________________________

It turned out the assignment Barton has given him was a piece of cake, almost too easy for someone with his fake qualifications which has James a little on edge. There was a weapons shipment coming in tonight through an unusual canal considering the FBI have been on their asses lately, which had James internally laughing as Pietro had explained the whole thing. 

All James had to do was meet up with the buyer who just happens to be from the middle east and assure the transaction went smoothly. Allegedly, their last sales mediator had disappeared out of thin air, never to be seen again. James had a feeling he knew exactly what had happened to the guy but he kept that to himself, checking over his own weapons one last time before heading to the docks. 

He spotted Thor, a tall, blonde guy with a strange accent the minute he reached the shipyard. Pietro had introduced them a few days ago and he was told that Thor was to be his back up if need be. The guy was standing still in the middle of the place as if asking to be shot. 

“Hey,” James said as he approached the other man, keeping closer to the walls, easily avoiding making himself into a target. Although he was sure the Irish were actually trying to recruit him and didn’t know who he really was, painting a bull’s-eye on his back was not in his plans and neither was getting shot like a rookie.

Thor waved back in James’s direction, a big grin on his face as though they were meeting up for a party and not a criminal deal. The blond quickly made his way towards James, long legs carrying him across the shipyard in no time. 

“Any news from the seller?,” James asked as he reached for a cigarette, placing one behind his ear before pushing another between his lips and lighting it. 

Through the river of smoke escaping his mouth James saw Thor shaking his head no. He groaned as he looked out at the docks. It was a calm night with barely any wind making it easier to decipher any crackle across the water. Finally, James could hear the broken sounds of an engine approaching. Over the reflection of the water he spotted movement, a breach in the water forming until a small boat came forth. 

James moved to the docks rapidly, inhaling the warm air into his lungs between pulls of his cigarette. Thor walked closely behind him, falling into an easy rhythm. James made it to the edge of the pier just in time to see a small boat approaching. He reached out for the rope thrown at him by one of the two men aboard the ship, the other man busy steering into positing. James pulled the boat closer as the boat’s engine was cut off, knotting the wet rope around the rusty cleat at his feet before standing at his full height, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. 

Without a word the two men aboard the ship grab a reinforced chest that sat at the back of the ship, heaving the heavy box onto the dock. 

“Just as ordered,” muttered the man that had been steering the boat, now running the back of his sleeve across his brow to collect the sweat that pebbled down his face. 

James signaled Thor to open the chest, lifting the hefty lid up to inspect the weapons. “These aren’t what we paid for,” James replied as he eyed both men, his hand itching to reach for his gun but it was still too soon for that. He used his cigarette as a distraction, bringing it to his mouth, letting it linger on his lips as he waited for a response. 

“No more of those,” the driver countered defensively in a broken English. “These just as good.” 

James nodded in acknowledgement, flicking the cigarette onto the ground and counting rapidly the numbers of gun in the case. “Yes just as good but not what we asked for and sold at a much cheaper price on the market.” 

Pulling a large wad of cash from his pocket, James counted out half of what was still owed to the seller and handed it over. “That’s all you’re getting.” 

He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, nerves starting to tickle the back of his neck as he tried to keep cool, looking frustrated when the men before him said nothing. 

They both stood there motionless, staring at the money and then him, obviously conflicted. 

“Believe me, the last thing you want to do is piss me off. Take the money and fuck off,” James threatened, now reaching back into his jeans for his gun, the movement clearly discernible to everyone present. 

The sellers glared in his direction, their own hands going for their belts before retreating with a nod. 

“Next time bring me what I ask for,” James added as he pulled on the rope, undoing the knot from the cleat and kicking at the ship. He and Thor watched the boat float away before hearing the engine rumble to life, swiftly disappearing into the darkness. 

“That was interesting,” Thor said as he turned towards James, his loud voice resonating into the quiet night.

Hearing Thor’s voice for the first time, James shrugged. He flicked the back of his jacket into place, making sure his gun was covered. “Drag the chest will you.” 

Without comment Thor did as he was asked, lifting the chest into the trunk of an old Escalade as though it weighed nothing. James slipped into the driver’s seat, Thor entering through the opposite door as the car came to life. Making sure the headlights were off, James moved the gear into drive and sped out of the shipyard. 

By the time they made it to the designed warehouse for the drop off, James heartbeat was back to normal. He stepped out of the car as Thor did the same. Everywhere around them people were busy moving crates and cars around. This was no doubt one of the places they kept their cargo James realizes as he memorized how he had gotten here. The humongous garage door slamming shut behind him vibrated through the floor and up his body, shook him out of his thoughts. He groaned as he looked around, finally spotting Clint that was leaning casually against a wall. 

“Barton,” he greeted the man, as he stepped aside so Thor could unload the chest from the trunk of the Escalade. 

Clint walked towards them slowly, a knife in hand as he peeled an apple without interest. 

“You mentioned they might not have the M16. They didn’t. Gave us a bunch of AK-47.” 

Barton nodded as he looked over the weapons, bringing his knife to his mouth as he ate a piece of the apple from it. 

“And how much did you pay for them,” Clint asked, eyes shining with a humorous glint. 

James was starting to feel as though the entire drop off had been plan to test his skills. “Fifty percent less than what was left to pay,” he responded, chucking the leftover money at Clint who caught it with ease. 

An awkward silence settled between, Clint flicking through the money as James stood there waiting. He knew these tactics,  _ the who can piss further than who and look tougher than who game  _ and he wasn’t intimidated by it. Reaching into his pocket he grabbed his lighter, flicking it to life and making a show out of sparking up the cigarette he had placed behind his ear earlier. 

“Come,” Clint finally signaled as he turned and walked away, throwing the knife in his hand against a wooden target across the room.  _ Of course _ , James thought as he followed, the knife was embedded right in the center of the target.  _ The guy’s nickname isn’t hawkeye for nothing _ . 

They walked along long hallways with confusing turns and stairways until they made it to a red door with a gold handle. Clint lead them right through it the door into an office that had to be very deep inside the warehouse. James walked in after Clint, eyes roaming across the walls littered with books and various foreign trinkets. James settled in a maroon chair facing a battered couch, taking his cigarette and extinguishing it under his boot

No less than a minute later, Natasha Romanov walked in, her usual swagger apparent in her step as another man followed close behind her, closing the door to the office and caging them all in. Natasha sat on the desk behind James, not a word coming from her mouth as she eyed the unknown man in the room. She seemed upset, the lines of her face forming an almost indecipherable frown. 

Turning his attention back to the unknown man, James realized he had never seen this man in any of hundreds of hours of footage related to the Irish mafia he had studied.  _ Hell, I would remember a guy like that, _ James thought to himself as he shuffled down into his seat, opening his legs as he feigned comfort. The guy before him had to be at least 6 foot two with broad shoulders and muscled arms. If anything this guy could be straight out of a modelling catalogue, the big lumberjack guy with a beard being quite in fashion as of late. A _ nd wouldn’t I like to climb that tree _ , James thought as he cursed himself, coughing into his ring covered hand to hide his own laughter. 

The unknown man walked towards the desk at the back of the room, pouring an amber liquid into a glass before taking a seat on the couch opposite of James. From here, James could smell the strong scent of whiskey, his lips curling into a smile as the man before him propped his feet onto the table between them, swirling the alcohol in his glass. 

“I hear you have skills that could be useful to be Mr. Buchanan,” the man said simply, his voice almost like a low growl. His face showed little interest in the situation but James contemplated that it was all part of an act. 

“Bucky,” he simply responded, his eyes tracking the other man’s every move. He didn’t need to confirm his skill set, he knew by now that everyone around him had heard his exploits. 

“We’ll Bucky, I have a few of my guys saying you could be the man I’ve been looking for,” the stranger replied with a curt nod. “I’ll keep this short. I don’t usually meet the recruits, they’re trained by Clint that you’ve met or Natasha sitting over there, but since you’ll be working with a lot of my precious cargo I wanted to make something clear right away.”

The man paused, bringing the glass to his slips as he swallowed down a sip slowly. He pulled the drink away from his face, keeping it at eye level as he watched James attentively.

“The most important rule around here is loyalty. We’re a family. We protect our own, feed and care for our people so if you fuck us over, you fuck them over too and I don’t take too kindly to people that think they can hurt my family. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” was all James had to reply, his eyes never wavering as he observed the man before him who took another sip of whiskey. James could see the man’s throat work around the liquid and for some reason he knew instantly who the man that sat before him really was. Steve Rogers, the ghost leader of the Irish mob. 

“Good,” Steve sighed as though this was such a boring task for him. He stood, walking towards the door with his glass still in hand. “There’s just one last thing for you to go through, I’m sure Natasha will have a pleasure explaining it to you.” 

The door opened and closed and with that, Steve Rogers was gone and James now sat alone with both Barton and Romanov studying him, a malicious smile etched upon both of their faces. 

“Pliers,” Natasha murmured as she gracefully slid down the desk to her feet, extending her hand towards Clint who obliged, placing a pair of pliers in her hand. “Try not to scream too much, I have a headache,” she said as she advanced towards him. 


End file.
